Girls in White Dresses
by Staccato Stop
Summary: Peeta Mellark never made it out of the arena. Katniss Everdeen heads to her first games as a mentor. AU; Past Peeta/Katniss, Katniss/Gale, Eventual Katniss/Johanna.
1. Chapter 1

**Girls in White Dresses**

Exhaustion weighs heavy on my bones. I've run my body ragged in an attempt to outwit insomnia. Even as my eyes slip shut, I know it won't be for long. Horrors lurk and lurch inside my head.

I'm cold, but the day is hot and bleak. Dusty children corralled into unwilling lines.

"I volunteer."

The words tore from my throat. Like blinking, or breathing. Instinctual, mechanical. "I volunteer." For her. For my pretty yellow haired sister wearing her Reaping's best. The sky is blue. Water is wet. I save her.

I'm drowning on the stage. She sings sweetly in the crowd.

_"Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true. Here is the place where I love you." _

I'm singing too. My hair pulled tightly into plaits. Dad smiles. Mom and the baby too. 'Here is the place where I love you.' The sound of applause catches my ear. I turn and listen.

"Because…because…she came here with me."

Cesar sits behind me. I crane my head to see, to remember. Peeta flushed. He stammered. He had the goddamn decency to look ashamed. I reeled. I rushed forward propelled by fury. Children screaming, bleeding, dying. Tracker jackers. Rue. All alone in a forest of terror, but then hope drifted in on a dirty promise. Two tributes can live. His name erupted from my mouth. And then Peeta's in the mud. Peeta's almost dead.

"Remember, we're madly in love, so it's all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it."

I kiss him, surrounded by a haze of infection and sweat. His sweaty brow and ragged words, the desperation of our association. The fervor of a teenage affection. His chapped lips. The way his fingers curled around my wrist. I should have kissed him more. I should have kissed him forever.

"I don't want to lose the boy with the bread." I whisper. I bellow. I cry.

I see him in the distance, but the light fades. I didn't want to lose the boy with the bread. He's the hand I want to clutch in the dark. The face I want to find in the crowd. Cato's face looms over me. His hands wrap around my throat. The gash on his forehead seeps. The smell of boy and blood overwhelms. His face disappears from sight. My fingers run along the cold reassuring length of an arrow. I am my bow. I'm ready to kill a kid while his mother watches.

"Go on, shoot." A myriad of emotions clashing on his face. He is fury. He is crying. He is scared. "And we both go down and you win. Go on. I'm dead anyway!" The façade shatters. This monster wasn't born. "I always was, right? I didn't know that until now. Isn't that what they want, huh?" He volunteered. I volunteered. He grew up fed. He grew up clean, but there we stand, stood. "NO! I can still do this. I can still do this. One more kill. It's the only thing I know how to do. Bring pride to my district. Not that it matters."

Something shifts. Resolution dances across that handsome face. When he falls, Peeta falls with him. I scream. I screamed. The mutts roared. Bone and cartilage cracked on sharpened teeth. The arrow I loose finds a home in Cato's head. Peeta's eyes are wide and dark. Is agony contagious? My skin is in shreds too. Clean, quick kills. Aim. Swallow the bile. See through the tears. It's not fair to leave him to suffer. The arrow flies, flew. It's a haunting, hollow, wet sound.

"You're not leaving me here alone," I said. If you die, I'll never leave this arena. Not really.

The sun rose. I won. Congratulations. Spite courses like fire set on brittle grass.

"…I'm more than just piece in their Games."

My fingers fumbled, but they found their prey. Berries slick and mashed cupped in my hand. The yellow, acid taste of contempt filled my mouth. Their cheers surround me. The shot came without warning. The impact knocked me flat. He anticipated my ending. The berries cascaded from hand, a beautiful slow motion moment captured in the blinding sunlight. The tranquilizer flooded my system. With a sluggish surge, I licked my palm clean. Like a cat on a warm summer day, I sprawled. The sky swirled while I drowned in anarchy and sedative.

"Because when he sings…even the birds stop to listen."

Because when he loved, even I believed.

"I knew…I was a goner."

My eyes snap open. Gone. Prophetic sap. The sacrificial lamb destined to die from the first act. Fucking Peeta Mellark, joking over breakfast, painting like a boy with time to spare, dying horrifically. I'm sweat drenched and shaken. The television blares in the living room. Today is the Reaping. I shift to my side on the cramped sofa. Preliminary coverage has started. They parade the who's who in front of the camera. Finnick Odair smiles with his arm around Snow. Enobaria bares her teeth. 'Stay tuned,' they cry, 'countdowns of fan favorite moments and predictions to follow.' It's a party. I resettle on my back. The ceiling fan spins hypnotically above me.

"May the odds be ever in your favor, boys and girls." I whisper to the air.

Prim clatters downstairs. She's early. She looks beautiful in her pressed blue dress. We shuffle to the kitchen and take up our places at the old wooden table. The table my father built. The table that makes my mother cry. Prim's hands don't shake as she butters a slice of bread. Her eyes never waver and her voice doesn't falter. She drinks her tea and pets the cat. If Effie Trinket calls the name Primrose Everdeen today, I'll burn down the fucking world.

I run a hand through the rat's nest that is my hair. Prim smiles. I slide my thumbs back into the holes worn into my sleeves, Peeta's sleeves. I snuggle into my stolen sweater and hug my knees to my chest.

"You want me to brush your hair?" She asks offhandedly. Casually. Breakfast is a judgment free zone.

"I think it looks fine like this." I pick at a small pull in the knee of my pants.

"You smell again."

If it were anyone else, I'd explode. I'd rage, but not at her, never at her. "I'm tired."

"I know, but at least let's wash your face. Ok?"

"Maybe." I shrug, noncommittal.

She slurps her milk. "Did you pack?"

"I don't need anything." The pattern of the wood in the table is suddenly of great interest to me. I swirl the drops of condensation in a senseless pattern.

"They'll be here soon to make you up."

To play dress up with their shiniest, new toy, but Cinna is a bright light in a dark room. "I know."

"You can do this. You made it through the tour. This will be easy." She assures me.

The tour. I laugh, harsh and cold. I survived the tour in a tranquilizer-induced haze. Rue's mother left me catatonic. Haymitch watched me with impassive eyes. He held my hair. We sat together in the dark as the train rattled ever forward, Peeta's memory leaving the space between us heavy and jagged. I survived the tour. Barely.

"Yeah." I answer. Her hand moves slowly towards mine. I nod slightly before she takes my hand.

"If anyone can do it, Katniss, you can."

She believes. I can see it in those big grey eyes. She'll always believe, my pretty kid sister. My stomach is a tangled knot of dread and panic. I don't believe in much anymore. She brushes the hair from my face. My eyes burn with unshed tears. I try to find words. A loud knock on the door interrupts us. It takes a moment before I realize I'm lying prone on the hardwood floor. My heart pound as my vision comes back into focus. There's tears and snot smeared across my face. Someone's still banging at the door.

"You're okay, Katniss. You're safe. It's just Effie at the door."

Crumbs of forgotten meals dig into my cheek. "I'm okay." I pause. "Don't let them in here!"

"I'll handle it." It's my mother's voice speaking from somewhere unseen. Her heels clack across the floor. The kitchen door clicks shut. A cacophony of voices fill the foyer, but the insufferable knocking finally ceases. Prim sits calmly beside me. I focus on the small crack in the plaster wall.

"I can't do this." I hear Effie titter in the hall. I cringe. "Can't do this."

"You have too." Prim's voice is hollow and older than I like.

"I know." The floor is cold against my cheek. "There's really no hope, is there?"

"There's always hope." She says quietly.

"You don't believe that."

"It's time to get off the kitchen floor, Katniss."

"Okay." I move unsteadily to my feet.

She pulls me towards the sink. The washcloth is rough against my cheek. With careful hands, she cleans my face. Tears, crumbs, sweat, and snot gently dabbed away.

"There you go." She tosses the cloth onto the counter. She gives me a small smile. "Better."

She's alive, I remind myself. I'd do it again. I wrap my arms tightly around her. Her chin presses into my shoulder. She's getting so big.

"You really do smell, Sass."

I smile at the childhood nickname. I can feel the ghost of rough hand gently tugging my braid, my father's booming voice admonishing me not to run in the house. I remember Prim's girlish giggles ringing out from the kitchen, the sight of my mother watching us from her chair, the needle in her hand never slowing.

"I know. I'm sorry."

She sighs. "No you aren't."

I snort. "You're right." I pull away. "I'm not." I glance towards the door.

"Waiting isn't going to make it any easier."

I turn back to my sister. Her hands don't shake. Her eyes aren't wide. She's solid, no matter how hard the wind blows. "How'd you get so tough, little duck?"

She grabs my hand. "I watched you."

Her smile is watery and small, but it warms me nonetheless. Effie's shrill voice echoes outside the door. My mother's valiant efforts at distraction are wearing thin.

"Okay."

"Okay." She nods.

Prim strides across the kitchen and throws open the door. Effie screams. She quickly covers her mouth. Apparently, that reaction was too over the top, even for a woman dressed head to toe in fuchsia and some kind of animal print.

"Katniss." That one word drips with pity and concern. I must be pretty pathetic if Effie isn't even upset with me.

I make a half-hearted attempt to flatten my hair. "I guess you have your work cut out for you."

Effie shuffles forward in towering heels. "No worries, my dear. We know Cinna can work magic. Come on let's get you upstairs."

I've seen Effie cry. One night, during the tour, I stumbled into the dining car and there she sat. Her dark hair fell in soft curls to her shoulders. Her face was clean of makeup. She looked up at me over the rim of her glass. The brown liquid sloshed back and forth.

I swayed in the doorway. "Rough day." I collapsed back stage. Too many drugs, not enough sleep, sensory overload.

"Katniss. You should be sleeping." She advised, but her tone wasn't quite right.

"Can't sleep." She looked beautiful in that swathe of moonlight. She looked like a person. "I'm sorry I freaked out today, Effie. Loud noises." I shrugged.

"The way you screamed his name, Katniss." She shivered. She tucked her hair behind her ear. "We carry on." She swallowed a mouthful of liquor. "We all have jobs to do."

I slide back to the present as we trek up the stairs. The others follow at a distance. Effie stays at my elbow. She's a comforting whirlwind of hairspray scented taffeta. Cinna waits with open arms. I settle comfortably in his embrace.

"How's my girl?"

"I'm holding up."

He raises his eyebrow, but doesn't call my bluff. "Let's get you cleaned up, okay?"

He leads me to the styling chair. "Yeah."

"You trust me, Girl on Fire?"

I gaze up at his reflection in the mirror. He stands behind me, his hands resting on my shoulders. There's no question in my mind. "Of course."

"Good." He smiles and spins me away from the mirror.

My eyes slip shut as his hands go to work. He effortlessly twists my hair into a loose braid. I hear the scissors before I feel the cut.

"Open your eyes."

I do and he presses my bedraggled braid into my hand. My newly shorn hair tickles my ears.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it." I blurt out. I'm lighter. I'm brand new. I'm-I realize the eyes of everyone in the room are fixed on me. They have the decency not to comment on the fat tears that roll down my face.

"Good." He claps his hands together and grins. "Let's get you ready."

I'm washed and dried. Polished and shined. He shapes and buzzes my hair into something even I can recognize as edgy. My makeup is dark and hard. I'm costumed simply in leather pants and a black shirt. My boots are heavy and worn. I feel invincible. The little girl with her braid is no more. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I'm all hard angles and lines. They cut all the soft out of me.

Cinna saves the best for last. He's fashioned a simple burnished gold chain with an embossed mockingjay medallion and a single charm shaped like loaf of bread. I burst into tearful bout of laughter. He fastens the chain around my neck.

"The mockingjay and the baker's boy." He whispers.

I finger the delicate chain. The little loaf of bread is both the silliest and the most wonderful thing I have ever seen. "Thank you, Cinna."

"Time to feed the monster." He reaches for my hand and drops a kiss against my knuckles. "Never let them see you falter."

He shuffles me through the door. Prim is waiting outside with my mother.

"It's time to head over. Prim needs to check in." My mother advises.

Prim gapes. "You look terrifying…but like in a good way." She adds hurriedly.

"Thanks, little duck. I'll see you after the Reaping."

"Count on it." We hug quick and hard. Then Prim bounds down the stairs with my mother on her heels.

My mother turns and calls over her shoulder. "Gale is waiting for you downstairs." A look I can't even begin to interpret swims across her face only to be quickly replaced by a grim smile. "It can't happen again, right?"

I want to assure her. I want to ease her anxious mind, but the odds are never in our favor. All I'm sure of is that if Effie Trinket calls the name Primrose Everdeen, they won't even see me coming.

"Whatever happens, we'll deal with it."

She nods at my response and swallows hard. "I'll see you after."

* * *

Gale is waiting for me in the foyer. His hat crumbled in his hands, his face smudged with grime from a half a shift's work.

"You look beautiful, Catnip."

They always say that like it's the most important thing. Like it's the biggest compliment. Like it's all I have to offer some days. Haymitch jammed pills down my throat while Effie watched. 'At least she looks nice,' Effie offered.

"Thanks." I reply because I've learned that's just what you should do. "You like my new hair?" I turn my head back and forth.

"I do." He links his hands with mine.

I fucked him. In the aftermath of everything, it was his comfort I sought. I pulled him in with greedy hands desperate for intimacy. For a safe touch. For some sensation to still the ever present buzzing in my head. I didn't want to be touched, yet I wanted to be consumed. He was happy to indulge me. We fucked on the floor of my old abandoned house. He smelled like a hard day's work. His coal stained fingers left marks on my skin.

My hand brushes his arm. He's quieter now. Angrier too. The Capitol passed legislature promoting the use of clean energy. Twelve is dying. I think it's my fault. Punishment for the glimmer of rebellion Snow read in my eyes. Gale is simmering. He's the hub of a web of whispers. When the levee breaks, he'll be there, probably holding the axe. I don't know where I'll be.

"Me too..." The team files past. Effie gestures exaggeratedly to her imaginary watch. "I've got to get going. You want to walk me down?"

He shakes his head. "I just wanted the chance to say goodbye properly."

"Two minutes, Katniss." Effie yells as Cinna directs her out the door.

"Properly?" I ask. "How properly?" My body thrums in anticipation of his hands and his tongue. I step in closer.

"I want to make you feel good. But, we don't have much time." He murmurs into my neck.

"Lucky you've got a talented tongue."

His hand ventures slowly down my body. His fingers slide between my thighs. "Are you wet for me?"

I sigh and rock my hips searching for more friction. "I am. I'm wet for you."

He shoves the clutter off the armchair resting against the wall. He maneuvers me into the seat. I kiss him as his hands work at the fasteners on my pants. He bites my lip as he draws away. Roughly, he pulls my pants down around my knees. His hand slips between my thighs.

"I want to taste you."

"Yeah, yeah." I breathe.

His tongue pushes at my folds, hot and wet. I live in a constant state of arousal. At any time, I think I could come or scream. My fingers tangle in his hair. I yank him closer; my only intention is to ride his tongue to completion. I'm cresting. I'm on fire. I can't think. I can only feel. It's clear and it's easy. I cry out.

"You're beautiful." He gasps.

I struggle to catch my breath and ride the wave of pleasure. He searches for something to clean me up. He snags the box of tissues from the table.

"Come here." I tug at his collar.

We kiss. I savor the taste of him and me on his tongue. His hair's a disaster. His pupils are blown. I know he's hard, but he's already moving again. He's trying valiantly to paint me back into too tight pants.

"Wait. I have to take off this underwear. It's soaked."

He smirks, but the ensuing strip show unfolds clinically. It's not awkward. The moment's just gone.

I shove the swathe of green lace into his hand. "Here, going away present."

He shoves my panties into his pocket. I jam my feet into my shoes. I almost topple over trying to resettle my heel and zip my pants. He catches me by the elbow.

"Be safe out there, kid."

"Nothing's going to happen to me, Gale. It's going to happen to a bunch of helpless kids. I just have to watch."

"The Capitol isn't safe. Just be careful."

"I will."

He kisses me again. Slow and lingering. We trying to have a moment, some kind of fond farewell, but the reality is he tongue fucked me on an antique chair while twenty-four kids begrudgingly trudged towards their deaths. I don't love him and he doesn't love me. We're just two bodies grappling for release. It wouldn't have mattered the tongue, so long as I came. We lost ourselves in each other and now we're back on solid ground. He goes back into the mines and I disappear into the decadence of Snow's Panem.

"I'll see you in a couple weeks."

Something dark skates across his face. "Yeah, I'll be here." He heads for the door.

I bend to zip up my boot. "Are you going to watch?" I ask over my shoulder, but he's already gone.

* * *

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**

"You've got something on your face, sweetheart." Haymitch laughs. He tosses me the handkerchief from his pocket.

"Thanks." I answer icily. I wipe the reminder of Gale from my face. "You look awful."

"Gee thanks, princess." He pushes his hair off his face and looks down at his outfit.

I step closer and scratch at a stain on his lapel. "Is that vomit on your jacket?"

"It's definitely breakfast."

"Pre or post digestion?"

He wrinkles his nose. "Both." He offers jovially.

We laugh and Effie looks on disappointed at our antics. She huffs and crosses her arms. Haymitch just laughs harder.

He slaps his knee. "I see the ice queen has yet to defrost." He rummages around his coat pocket and produces a flask. He bows dramatically at Effie. "Drink, my lady?"

She huffs again and shoves past Haymitch into the car. Cinna raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. He climbs in beside her. The rest of the team pile into the other car. I can see the Peacekeepers gathering at the end of the driveway. They'll escort us into town. I gaze up at the sky. There's a chill in the air. It's going to rain.

"What's harder? Being a tribute or being a mentor?"

Haymitch stares up at the quickly moving clouds. He takes a pull from his flask. "It's a different kind of hell." He offers me a drink.

The liquor burns. "Damn. That's strong."

"It's that kind of a day, sweetheart."

Haymitch's entire adult life seems to have been 'that kind of a day.' I guess a string of dead kids will do that to you.

"Maybe we can save one."

"I thought that too. My first go at this. Maybe I can save one." He knocks back another drink. "You'll get lots of chances. Every year, you get another chance. Or as I see it now...another opportunity to fail."

"You got me out of there."

"Even a blind squirrel finds a nut eventually…It's a quarter quell, Katniss. It's going to be a bloodbath."

"You won a quell."

"Whatever they have planned must be huge." Effie bangs on the car window interrupting Haymitch. "What?" He sputters.

My heart is in my throat, but I'm still standing. "Damn it." I jam my shaking hands into my pockets.

Effie rolls the window down and grasps at the glass, "Get in the car. We're going to be late!"

Haymitch sighs and opens the door with a dramatic flair. Effie falls forward. Haymitch catches her, but not before her hat topples off into the dirt. I can't fight the giggle that escapes my mouth. Effie glares daggers. Haymitch dusts off her hat with a mocking pomp and circumstance, but we manage to squeeze into the car without any other problems.

The sky opens up before we reach the Hall of Justice. We speed past a few kids from the outskirts of District 12 slogging down the dirt turned mud roads.

"We should take them in with us." I look at Haymitch for support. The rain tumbles down harder. The wind blows violently. One of the girls pulls her threadbare sweater tighter against her chest.

Haymitch shakes his head. "He won't stop. They won't stop for anything." He holds up his hands. "Believe me. I've tried. No dice."

I sit back in my seat with a disgusted huff. I could see her bony shoulders poking out of her rain soaked sweater. The little ones clung to her skirt. The driver slows as the roads degrade further.

"Looks like the road is washed out." Cinna observes. "Since we're stopped anyway..." The driver coolly ignores him.

I press my face close to the glass. The rain is falling too hard now to see much of anything. Beside me, Effie gasps.

I jump. "What?"

"That girl, Katniss." Effie points an exquisitely manicured nail. "She looks just like you."

I wipe the gathered condensation off the window and examine the girl trekking by the car. She looks Seam. Dark hair, olive skin. Underfed. Most likely fucked for life. I recognize her from school. I think she was a few years younger. Bellamy Eames. She had a sister my age, Lira. She died from the cough last winter. I wipe the window again. Bellamy tugs on her sweater. I didn't go back to school after the Games. It's easier to pretend I don't know the cannon fodder.

I turn back to Effie. "Bellamy Eames. We went to school together. She was smart."

"You could be sisters." Effie nods confidently. She pats my hand. "What about that girl? I love learning the different styles of names in all the districts. So exotic."

I gaze out at the girl through the back window. Are you still a sister if your sister dies? Does it still count? "I have a sister."

Effie stills. "I know you do." She responds in an oddly serious tone. The moment fades and she's back to a constant state of frivolous motion. Tweaking her wig, adjusting her eye makeup, picking at imagined threads. "Perk up. Cameras in five."

Haymitch snorts and salutes her with his flask. "Aye, aye, captain." Effie sneers. Haymitch tosses the flask in a fluid motion.

The metal is cool in my hand. "Cheers."

"Really, Katniss, don't encourage him." Effie rolls her eyes.

"I'll have some." Cinna's deep voice rumbles. He catches the flask with ease. He doesn't wince as the liquid burns it way down. He holds the drink out to Effie with a shrug.

Effie scoffs. She rolls her eyes. She gazes around the interior of the car exasperatedly. "Really, Cinna?" Cinna shrugs again. Haymitch smiles that shit eating grin of his. Effie looks fit to burst.

"Oh, ok. Fine! Fine! Under protest." She knocks back a healthy portion. She hiccups. "You all are bad influences, really. Drinking on the job, what's next?"

"I don't know, maybe some fun?" Haymitch floats the joke with a smirk, but it falls flat. The car goes quiet. Whatever is coming for us, I am certain it will not be fun. The car slows to stop. The doors unlock with a pop.

Effie checks her lipstick one more time. "Chins up, smiles on. Everyone. Showtime."

Haymitch's expression dances from sour to somber, but Cinna is stoic. He squeezes my hand gently as he slides out of the car. I don't know how someone so warm can have ice in their veins. He's fearless. Snow watches our every move. I can feel his eyes on the back of my neck. The smell of blood and roses haunts me. Every now and then, I swear that scent wafts in on the breeze. Cinna doesn't look both ways before he crosses a street. I've seen him in the Capitol. Head up, shoulders back, he walks as though he knows the world will follow. I'm afraid to open my mouth for fear of retaliation. I won my Games, but I lost parts of my life I never could have anticipated.

I climb out of the car. The Peacekeepers swarm me. Someone jams a large umbrella into my hand. We march in dramatic fashion towards the stage. Haymitch deliberately drags his feet until the head Peacekeeper jabs him with his gun. He's itching for a fight. I feel the same heat under my skin. I grab his hand to still the conflict. Haymitch doesn't have anything to lose, but I do. We finally reach the stage. A makeshift canopy has been erected to protect us from the rain. The rest of Twelve stands shivering in a sloppy clutter. I find Prim in the crowd. She's laughing in the rain. I watch her link arms with another girl and spin wildly. They spiral apart and Prim falls to the ground laughing. She's dancing in the rain. Her new dress is caked in mud, but she's dancing when she should be praying. She's dancing when she should be doing anything else. There are others joining in. Girls and boys. Their best clothes soaked and covered in mud. They're playing. They aren't shivering standing moored like cattle for the slaughter.

The laughter attracts the attention of the Peacekeepers. Cameras are rolling on Twelve. This isn't what Snow wants to see. Somber children and sobbing mothers that's what he needs. The head Peacekeeper storms onto the stage. He shoves by me and fires his weapon into the air. Action halts immediately. He grabs the microphone. The cameras click off.

"You will cease this activity at once. Back in line! The next person to step a toe out of line will be punished…severely."

He holsters his weapon as the kids fall back into line. The other uniformed officers push in with their weapons in hand. The Peacekeeper nods to Effie. The cameras fire up again. She sashays towards the microphone with her painted on smile. My skin crawls with anticipation. Prim smiles at me and runs her dirty hands through her hair.

"Happy Hunger Games!" She smiles coyly. "And may the odds be ever in your favor! This year after our traditional viewing we are lucky enough to have received a very special announcement from our esteemed President Snow." She flaps her cards at the projector. The machine whirs to life. Our anthem blares loudly as images of the war filter across the screen. I cringe as Snow's sonorous voice erupts from the speakers. I know his cold, dead eyes are fixed on me. The familiar film ends with a raucous melody. I suppose my patriotism would have been aroused if we weren't the ones dying. The music starts once more, the camera comes into focus and there he sits, posed like some benevolent grandfather preparing to tell all the good girls and boys a story.

"Welcome! We salute your courage and your sacrifice. We wish you Happy Hunger Games!" He drawls with a feral grin. "This year we honor our third Quarter Quell. On this the seventy-fifth anniversary, as set forth by first Gamemakers, the number of tributes reaped from each district will be determined by the proverbial roll of the dice."

He gestures to his side. The camera pans out and reveals twelve well-dressed children buzzing with nervous excitement on a stage.

"These specially selected children will pull the lever and decide the fate of each district. This is a reminder." His cold eyes cut through me. "You exist because of the kindness of the Capitol. You're lives and livelihoods rest in our hands. Any attempt to disrupt this 'symbiotic' relationship we have worked so to establish would end disastrous for all. Do not forget that."

He knows. Shit. He knows. I want to search out Gale in the crowd. I need him to acknowledge that he understands. Snow knows about the meetings. He knows about the rebellion those boys are planning from Gale's kitchen. Don't bite the hand that feeds you. That's a thing people say. I warned them. Gale laughed. Now Snow's eyes are fixed on us and he's going to kill a bunch of kids to just show us that he can. I understand that my continued existence depends on my ability to toe the line, but I have a warm dinner every night. I have clean water and heat. I don't think more blood will convince the scrawny, unwashed masses to step back into subservience. But, maybe that's what he wants. A little uprising that is violently put down might wash out the idea of rebellion. My head hurts. I need a drink. I need to sleep. The politics of people were never my area of expertise.

Snow smiles grandly once more. My stomach clenches. He claps his hands together and the kids behind him beam. I bet they'll live their whole lives proud of this moment. I don't understand how that can't see the blood on their hands. Snow calls for the child representing District One. A handsome blond boy steps forward. He smiles at the camera. He pulls the pink lever and then the blue. The machine spins rapidly. The boy looks on wide-eyed, excited. I wonder if mothers in District One felt the same excitement. In a district where children volunteer, do mothers still murmur a prayer when their escort's hand dips into the bowl? Do they cry? The numbers slow, a bell dings. One boy, two girls. Snow calls forth the next child and the process continues.

District 2: 3 boys, 5 girls

District 3: 3 boys, 1 girl

District 4: 6 boys, 2 girls

District 5: 1 boy, 3 girls

District 6: 6 boys, 6 girls

District 7: 1 boy, 5 girls

District 8: 2 boys, 3 girls

District 9: 5 boys, 6 girls

District 10: 3 boys, 2 girls

District 11: 3 boys, 5 girls

And finally us. A petite girl with large dark eyes walks shyly forward. She stands on tiptoe to pull the lever. I find Prim in the crowd. She's holding tight to the girl beside her, both their bodies swaying in the rain. We stare at each other and wait for the sound of the bell. The ticking slows and I hold my breath. The bell dings.

"District 12." The girl lisps. "3 boys and 1 girl.' She chirps to camera with a beaming smile.

A rumble of discontented murmurs drift through the crowd. The Peacekeepers press in. The rain slows up and the sun begins to shine from behind the clouds. Haymitch catches my eye. He shakes his head. It's going to be a bloodbath.

Effie wraps her hand around the microphone once more. "Wasn't that exciting!" She shrills. "This will most certainly be our most exciting games yet!" Effie claps her hands together. She pauses. I think she's waiting for applause or cheers, but then she remembers where she is. "Right." She smiles again. "All right, well ladies first."

She dips her hand gracefully into the bowl. Her hand swirls slowly. The sun is blazing now. I'm trapped in clothes both hot and wet. It's suffocating. Finally, Effie chooses the card. My stomach drops. I know the name on the slip of paper. I've never been more certain of anything in my life. My knees go weak. Not Primrose Everdeen. Please, not Primrose Everdeen. Effie glances at me. She blinks rapidly. Her pale hands shake as she turns back to the microphone.

"Bellamy Eames." Effie announces without her usual flourish.

I feel Haymitch at my side. He clutches at my elbow. "It's not her, Katniss. It's not her. Come on, breathe kid."

"Haymitch. This is…"

"I know."

My head turns sharply at the sound of loud wail. Bellamy's mother falls to the ground. Bellamy Eames walks slowly towards the stairs. Her dark hair hangs in a tangled, wet knot. She doesn't cry. Her face is one of steely resolve. It takes three women to hold her mother back. Bellamy climbs the stairs. Effie places her hands on Bellamy's shoulders and gently directs her towards the microphone.

"Anything you would like to say?"

Bellamy looks like she has quite a few things she'd like to say. She bites her lip and clenches her hand into a fist. "No." She answers coldly.

"Okay." Effie titters benevolently. She teeters back to the bowls. "Now for our gentleman." She selects a folded card.

"Leander Cace." Another set of faces fall. A young girl stumbles forward. The other girls engulf her in a hug. Leander doesn't stop shaking his head. His parents cling to one another. Effie doesn't ask if he has anything to say.

She pulls another card. "Ayyan Seif." There's a collective gasp. A murmur of 'No' and hands clapped against mouths. A tall, dark eyed boy strides forward from the back of the cluster of older boys. His brother hitches his little sister up higher on his hip and clutches the hand of another little boy tighter. Another sister collapses in the mud. Another brother with the same dark eyes as Ayyan looks on helplessly. Ayyan Seif sweeps up the stairs. His brother scrambles forward from the other possible tributes. He opens his mouth. He's going to volunteer. I can see the desperation on his face. Ayyan silences him with a glare.

"Get back in line, Jaci." He barks.

The smaller boy stops short. He looks on bewildered. Ayyan shakes his head. The other potentials pull the younger boy back into the group.

"Okay, then." Effie considers the hulking young man and decides against approaching him. "Moving on. Our final tribute will be," she chooses her final card. "Caelum Greer."

Caelum cries. The Peacekeepers have to drag him onto the stage. The kids in One can already taste his blood on their teeth. Effie lines them up for a photograph. Haymitch and I push in on the side. The cameras flash. Effie beams. Caelum cries. The rain starts again.

"How many kids is that, Haymitch?" I whisper.

"37 boys and 41 girls." He frowns at the camera.

"78 fucking kids."

"It's going to be a massacre."

* * *

Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

** a/n: School has started. Psychology has consumed me once more. Updates will likely become even more sporadic, but if you keep reading, I will do my damndest to keep writing. **

**THREE**

A Peacekeeper ushers inside. He hurries back out to the stage leaving us stranded in the hall. The heavy doors slam shut behind him. I can still hear the deluge of rain. We stand in a fractured huddle. The uncomfortable quiet of the room punctuated every so often by Caelum's failed attempts to muffle his crying.

"Visiting rooms are down this way." Effie presses her palm against her forehead. "Haymitch make sure they find their way." She sways unsteadily on her heels. "I need to sit down."

I grasp her elbow. "Effie, are you all right?"

"Oh, nothing to worry about." She pats my hand. "They laced me a little too tightly this morning, I think."

Haymitch laughs, I cut off his retort. "That's too easy, even for you."

Effie gives a small smile. "I'll see you all on the train." She turns to tributes. "Congratulations again. The Capitol thanks you for your sacrifice."

She sashays off, not realizing the emotional wreckage those words have wrought. The silence in the room hangs heavier now and is permeated by a violent sort of tension. Caelum grimaces and slides to the floor. He's melted into a lump of tears and sobs. His breathing picks up. If he's keeps at it, he's going to hyperventilate. I glance at Haymitch. He shrugs. The cold stone cuts as I fall to my knees in front of him. I seize his arms roughly. He looks up wide-eyed and fearful.

"You have to get up." I imitate the voice I've heard mothers use on misbehaving children. "You have to get off the floor."

"I ca-can't." He blubbers. "This is…it's not real. I can't…"

I don't have the patience for this. "You have to get off of the floor right now. Right now!" I stand. If he doesn't want to help himself, we'll drag him. Better us than the Peacekeepers. "Haymitch help me."

"If he wants to lie on the floor let him. Hell, I might even join him."

"Haymitch! This isn't a fucking game."

"See you forget, but it is a game. The worst game there is, but still a game." Haymitch sits cross-legged beside the boy. "Here kid." He passes Caelum his drink.

With a shaky hand, Caelum grabs the flask. He unscrews the lid and tips the container back. He gives Haymitch a questioning look. "It's empty."

"Well shit." Haymitch slaps his knee. "Long ceremony. You understand, but I think…" He sticks his hand into his leather boot. "Aha! Extra provisions."

I gape. "You're unbelievable."

He smiles. Caelum knocks back a hefty portion of the swill. He threads his fingers through his short, red hair and takes a deep breath.

"If you can't get it together, then you're already dead." Haymitch says in a low voice.

"Like I have a chance. Everybody saw that."

"He's right. He screwed it up for all of us. Now we'll be on every career's hit list." Bellamy declares from behind me. "You know they're going to target districts."

Caelum face grows more panicked, if that's even possible. I rest a hand on his knee. It's like approaching a wounded animal, I decide. "Not necessarily." I crane my neck to see the dark haired girl. "We can figure out a way to play this." I say more confidently than I feel.

Bellamy crosses her arms. "It doesn't really matter. We're fucked anyway. What did you say?" She gestures towards Haymitch. "Oh yeah, 'this is going to be a massacre.'" She imitates Haymitch's drawl.

I wince. "There's always a chance." I respond flatly. She raises her eyebrow and glares at me in response. Platitudes are insulting. "You're attitude certainly won't help." Haymitch snorts beside me. The pot calling the kettle, I know, but her demeanor grates at me. Supportive isn't my natural state. Confrontational comes much more easily.

"My attitude! You could at least pretend we have chance. You're looking at us like we're already dead. I know we can't all be Katniss fucking Everdeen in the pretty dress with all the moon-eyed boys falling at her feet. Maybe Ayyan and I should pretend to be in love, yeah? You think that would get us sponsors? I might not even have to kill anyone, but which one of us would have to die? How did you decide that?"

"Don't talk about things you don't understand. Don't talk about-You don't get to talk about him!" I spit. I'm flooded with an anger-tinged panic. She's too close. The room is too hot. I'm too small to hold all of this together. "It is going to be a bloodbath. There's no way around that. It's going to end bloody. It always does. No matter what you do. You're all going to die and we're going to watch." I ramble, blinking back tears.

"Don't you say that!" She lunges at me, but Haymitch intervenes before the fight can escalate.

He restrains her with a strong arm across her chest. "Settle down." His tone brooks no argument. "This isn't the time or the place. You two can duke it out later, right now, the kids need to say goodbye to their families and get their shit together for the farewell b-roll."

I can feel my face flush bright red. I could cry. I could scream. I could sleep forever. Bellamy steps away from Haymitch and wraps her thin arms around herself. She fights back the tears welling in her eyes. Caelum's face is frozen in a terrified frown. My head pounds. Sweat trickles down my back. I heave a ragged exhale. I'm a monster. I stood in this very hall and prepared to die. I hugged my sister for what I was sure would be the last time. I'm picking fights with a girl on her way to gallows.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." My voice breaks. There are too many thoughts swirling around my head. There are too many things they need to know. "You didn't deserve that. I'm just…" The words escape me.

"Hungry." A deep voice intones. "Brings out the worst in people." All heads snap towards the quiet, hazel-eyed boy leaning against the wall. Leander pushes his thin wire glasses up on his nose. "Completely understandable. Now, I've heard the food in the Capitol is," he pauses with a odd smile, "almost worth the murder."

I sputter an embarrassing laugh choked sob, but Haymitch doesn't miss a beat.

"The food is pretty good, but it's the showers that are to die for." Haymitch nods seriously. "Hot water for days."

"Hot water, huh? I wonder what that's like." His face is pensive as he chews on his fingernail. "Will there be pie? I had a slice of pie at a wedding when I was kid. I've been dreaming about pie ever since."

"There are things better than pie."

"No way, old man. You're lying."

"You'll see on the train."

"What are you doing here?" The Peacekeeper from earlier charges up the hallway. Tributes need to be relocated to the visiting rooms! You." He points to Ayyan. "Your family's through first." He turns back to Haymitch and I. "The train will leave on time whether they've said their goodbyes or not!" He adds sharply.

Ayyan shoves off the wall and pushes by without a word. He strides across the foyer and down the hall with such ferocity the tall Peacekeeper falls in line behind Ayyan before he realizes his mistake. With a shake of his head, he jostles passed Ayyan and directs him with rough hands into one of the rooms. Another Peacekeeper leads Ayyan's family inside. We watch as a clump of kids holding on to each other in various states of distress shuffle inside the small room.

"He raises them." Caelum says in an almost reverent tone.

"All those kids?" Haymitch gives a low whistle.

"Yeah." He bites at his lip.

Haymitch rises slowly from the ground. He holds out a hand to Caelum. "Go say goodbye to your family."

Caelum staggers to his feet. Leander reaches out to steady him. He opens his mouth to speak, but Leander interrupts.

"It's okay, man." He squeezes Caelum's upper arm. "Come on."

Together, three bedraggled kids shuffle shoulder to shoulder down the dark hallway. The Peacekeeper briskly directs each tribute into a room. He clicks his handheld device and the doors seal with a snap.

Haymitch and I linger in the entranceway watching each family desperately rush towards their loved one. Grieving parents, desperate sisters. There are mixtures of anger and fear. Of great sadness and horror, but, it's all marked by a looming hopelessness, a damning inevitability. I see that familiar slump of the shoulders. Faces etched by hardship. Bodies too slight. All wringing their life worn hands, but unable to summon the energy or the courage to do much more. It's overwhelming. It's a choking, constricting sort of feeling. It's anger, I realize, pure unadulterated fury.

The Games ripped me out of my isolated bubble. I don't exist in a tunnel vision survival mode anymore. I see us. The 18-year-old boy raising his entire family. A sister-less sister holding herself and her mother together with not more than spirit of will. Starving children laughing in the rain. Boys too slight and too angry whispering in the dark. I feel a welling sense of pride. The Capitol left us to rot, but every year we're still here. You could line us up and count our deficits or you could watch us survive and see our strength and fortitude. See the way when one mother falls to the ground the others swoop in to help her up. When you don't have money or food, or anything really, all you have is each other. For the first time in a long time, I'm not consumed by fear of what Snow can do to me. I'm awash in a wave of new sensation. Prim danced in the rain. She twirled across Snow's main stage. There's a power here. There's a unity. There's possibility. I want to fight.

The humidity is stifling. I'm flagging, but my blood is thrumming with a newfound fire.

I run my fingers through my newly shorn hair. "What happens now?"

Haymitch's face is wan and pinched. He scratches absently at his eyebrow. "We get them as far as we can."

I'm bursting to speak, to exclaim. I want to let Haymitch in on my blossoming conviction, but the idea's too unstable, to frangible. "Caelum's going to be a problem."

"Maybe we can pull a Johanna Mason."

"A what?"

"Girl from Seven who won a few years back. She pretended to be weak and then," he shakes his head, "obliterated everyone in her way."

All the faces of past victors blur together. We always watched, but I tried not to remember. "I don't recall that."

"You'll meet her soon enough." He laughs curtly. "With so many tributes, they'll need extra mentors. It's going to be like a victor reunion this year."

My heart does a stutter step. That's it. That's our advantage. "I can't be the only one."

"What?" Haymitch looks on confused.

"I can't be the only one." I repeat, this time with more certainty. This is the year. This is the moment. Now we say 'no more.' I twine my fingers in the thin chain around my neck. "Haymitch, what if we brought them all home?"

* * *

Thanks for reading!


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